


Bury them together

by I_Amuse_Myself



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Other, Post Barricade, Sadness, basically everyone's already dead., i'm just really sorry about this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Amuse_Myself/pseuds/I_Amuse_Myself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her Boys and their charming friends, who were so fiery in their passions, burning brightly with the hope for a new world. If anyone could hold a barricade for as long as this one had been held, it was them.<br/>And she had to be the one to clean up what remained of their broken bodies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bury them together

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so so so so sorry about this. I forget what inspired this but I entirely blame ao3 users Audity and hipstergavroche.

Their barricade had been the last to go down. Of course it had. That barricade had had her Boys on it.  
Her Boys and their charming friends, who were so fiery in their passions, burning brightly with the hope for a new world. If anyone could hold a barricade for as long as this one had been held, it was them.  
And she had to be the one to clean up what remained of their broken bodies.   
Before Chetta and the rest of the turning women could even traverse the wall of furniture, she saw the first body.  
Not the first of any old body, as there were plenty of national guardsmen lying around, but the first of her friends.   
Darling Jehan, still in one of his ridiculous outfits, was lying in the gutter. His body was stiff, the mismatched clothes that he loved so much peppered with holes. He was hardly recognizable, but Musichetta still knew it was him.  
She bit her lip and looked away.  
On the other side of the barricade was a scene from out of a nightmare. Everywhere she looked, she saw another dear friend: Courfeyrac’s twisted body, looking as though he had fallen backwards from the top of the barricade to the very bottom, Combeferre collapsed over another body as though he’d been trying to save that person’s life before he’d been stabbed through with bayonets, Bahorel and Eponine and Gavroche piled among countless other dead in an alleyway, Feuilly’s chest caved in from the blow of a cannonball.   
Up in the café, she found Enjolras and Grantaire. Enjolras was slumped against the wall, his red shirt torn in eight separate places and caked with dried blood. Grantaire lay at Enjolras’ feet as though he had tried one last vain effort to save his Apollo.  
“Bury these two together,” Chetta said quietly, laying a hand on Grantaire’s tangled hair and letting a few tears escape, “I do believe that they were in love.”  
The other turning women didn’t question her. Musichetta was sure some of these men were their sons, their brothers, their friends or husbands. Almost all of them knew someone here. And now they were lying dead at their feet.  
And there were her Boys. Bossuet has Joly cradled in his arms as though perhaps they’re sleeping. They looked peaceful, like they could be in bed and not have anything to ask of the world.   
But Musichetta had things to ask of the world.  
The bitter tears flowed down her face as she gathered the lifeless husks that used to be her Boys into her arms.  
She sobbed brokenly for a few minutes before setting them back down, giving each a kiss on their cold cheek.  
“Bury those two together as well. Those were my Boys. Those were my boys…”


End file.
